


The Nightingale Manor Job

by Theo-Sev (Sevv7)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Canon-Typical Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Figuring Out New Relationships, Happy Ending, Hardison's First Time Topping, Mention of Drugging and Torture, Multi, Non-Explicit Asexual Parker, POV Eliot Spencer, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Eliot Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25094929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevv7/pseuds/Theo-Sev
Summary: A few months after the departure of Nate and Sophie, Parker, Hardison and Eliot accept a job which takes them to Europe and forces them to confront the changing dynamics that come alongside dating your teammates.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 15
Kudos: 114





	The Nightingale Manor Job

The plan had started out simple, they always did. But after grifting in two separate roles, and going toe to toe with several heavy hitters that they’d later found out were members of the Pruszków mafia, Eliot was really starting to reassess his initial view.

The mark was the owner of Dwór Słowika, a survival horror haunted house attraction, located in Warsaw, Poland. Supposedly it was the site of over twenty mysterious deaths in the past fifty years, and it had recently reopened its doors rebranded as Poland’s most infamous haunted house.

Their client was a young man who’d visited with two of his friends the previous year, just after it had opened. They’d been out drinking the night before and he’d been too hungover to make it out, so his friends had gone without him. He’d not seen either of them since.

The lawyers employed by Dwór Słowika had claimed the two had lied on their admissions paperwork, where it stated that neither of them suffered from any underlying conditions. But Hardison had hacked the autopsy reports and the ‘underlying conditions’ which were the reasons provided for the deaths were so textbook that he’d said they could just have been copied and pasted right in. They weren’t the only ones either. The deeper Hardison had looked, the more strange deaths he had found; each of them so well buried by payoffs or paperwork, that it was almost impossible to build them into a legal case.

In the end Parker had decided that there was no other option but to fly out there and gather enough information to bring down those responsible. Quite how the mob fitted into the whole thing was something she’d been working on ever since Eliot had been caught unaware by them, during a routine grift as an overly curious tourist.

Currently the three of them were holed up in their temporary base, a suite in a hotel located just outside of Warsaw. Hardison was tapping away on one of the many laptops he’d brought along for the job, while Parker silently poured over her haphazard mess of papers strewn out over the floor in one corner.

“Drink?” Eliot asked, pausing as he opened the mini bar to assess it’s contents. He’d just got back from an altercation with one of the aforementioned heavy hitters, and something cold and alcoholic sounded tempting. If nothing else it might take the edge off the bruising he could already feel forming down his side from when he’d been forced to half-roll-half-skid across a concrete floor.

“No,” Parker replied, not looking up. He recognised her expression, brows knitted tightly and lips pursed. It was her plotting face. Many a successful con had been pulled off the back of that face, so Eliot let her be.

“Hardison?” he said more sharply, trying to break through Hardison’s laser focus.

“Huh? Ah, nah man I’m good.” He patted the two liter bottle of orange soda beside him and Eliot huffed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Say it. Go on just say it. I know you want to.”

“Hardison,” Eliot growled, putting an unspoken warning into his voice that he was not in the mood.

“You see me complaining about what you drink? No. No you do not.” It was all sass and no substance in a way that Eliot usually found endearing, but after the day he’d had he could be forgiven for his patience wearing thin.

“Goin’ to find somethin’ stronger to drink,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket and then adding, “And some ice. Since apparently none of y’all thought to do that when I was gettin’ my ass handed to me and you were cosyin’ up in here.” It might have been unfair but the more he thought about it the more he realised he was actually more than a little pissed off. 

Parker made a hurt sound and wasn’t that fucking brilliant. Now he was the guy who snapped and upset his girlfriend.

When he left he slammed the door behind him harder than he meant to and wondered why it felt so satisfying.

* * *

Eliot didn’t wander far, only as far as the hotel bar downstairs. Even when he was frustrated with them he’d never leave them alone in an unfamiliar city crawling with hostiles unless it was as part of a con. Also, November in Poland was _cold._

He wasn’t even that frustrated with them, not really. But he was tired and his side hurt and the stitches in his left arm were pulling uncomfortably. He shouldn’t take it out on Parker and Hardison though, it wasn’t their fault.

After casting a wary glance around the room, Eliot slid into a stool at the bar and took stock of the numerous Vodka bottles behind it. Not his first choice, but it would do in a pinch.

“Vodka, neat.” He indicated to the top shelf and watched as the bartender pulled down a bottle and measured it into a glass for him.

Eliot accepted the drink, swilling the clear alcohol around in the glass without really paying it any attention. Hardison had seemed slightly off with him all day, making more snippy comments than usual and never following them up with his good natured smile. Had he been off with Hardison too? He didn’t know. Maybe their conversation from the other night wasn’t quite over.

He drained the glass, ignoring the burn, and set it back down on the counter with a handful of coins he judged should be enough to cover the drink plus a generous tip. It was probably time to go back up and apologise for his outburst. Now he’d had space to think, he knew it wasn’t about them. It was about him being pissed off that he let himself get caught unaware again and being worried that one day soon he’d stop healing so quickly after each of these pointless scuffles. But he wasn’t ready to talk to them about that yet.

He lifted a dish towel from behind the bar while the bartender was occupied and scooped some ice into it. Taking care of them was his job - he’d got his own damn ice before, he could manage it now.

* * *

Eliot paused at the door to their suite, listening for anything that might help in gauge the mood before subjecting himself to it. If he was prepared then he’d be able to keep his temper in check. Probably. He could hear faint voices, that was a good sign. At least he wouldn’t be walking back into a room where his partners were more absorbed in their work than on checking whether he was okay.

They cut off abruptly as he turned the handle and let himself in.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he grumbled, although truth be told he was already starting to feel a little better at the sight of them cuddled up together on the couch.

“We’re sorry about the ice Eliot,” Parker said, meeting his eyes and inclining her head in a way that said ‘we both know this isn’t about ice’.

“Yeah. Fine. Sorry I flew off at you.”

Parker fidgeted a little as it became increasingly clear that Hardison wasn’t going to say anything. Eventually she gave him a kiss on the cheek and pulled back, standing up.

“You two need to talk,” she announced. She walked over to where Eliot was still standing by the door and slid a finger down a graze on his jawline. “I don’t know what happened but you’ve been weird with each other all day. You need to sort it out.” She spoke softly but seriously, and ended the sentence by pressing a kiss to Eliot’s jaw.

“Parker…” Eliot started.

“No. No. Fix it.” Her tone was heated for half a second before it switched to sad. “Whatever happened when you had sex last night, fix it.” 

Parker disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door, leaving the two of them looking at each other awkwardly.

“It wasn’t the sex man,” Hardison said, finally.

“I know.”

“The sex was good. Great.”

“I know.”

“It was what you said after.”

Eliot sighed because he understood, now. “I know.”

“Because I _can_ take care of myself.”

“I know. Also, not what I said.” Eliot walked over to the couch and sat down heavily next to Hardison.

“Semantics. You said you wish I’d let you take care of me. How is that not the same?”

Eliot considered how to explain it in a way Hardison’s geek brain would understand, but he couldn’t make any metaphors about firewalls and browser security fit.

“Okay. It’s like this. I know you can take care of yourself. You’re the goddamn smartest guy I’ve ever known, but a bullet to the head will still kill you,” he raised his hands to tell Hardison to let him finish, “Letting me have your back doesn’t mean you can’t look after yourself, Hardison. It just means you don’t always have to. Means you can put yourself in situations you wouldn’t normally because you know I’m gonna be there too.” He wasn’t telling Hardison anything he didn’t already know, he was just reminding him.

“I had it, Eliot. Yesterday in that warehouse. You didn’t need to step in.”

Eliot had replayed the scene over and over in his mind and whatever way he looked at it, if he’d given Hardison the extra thirty seconds he’d needed to finish his hack, one of them would be dead by now. Maybe if he was the kind of guy who prioritised his relationship over the lives of his teammates, he’d be able to let it drop and just agree with Hardison. But he wasn’t and never would be.

“Four men armed with knives are about to walk in and I have a chance to pull you out? Yeah I’m gonna take it. Every damn time. And when we’re out together I need to know that when I call it, you’re gonna do what I say.” He was getting frustrated again and he really didn’t want to be, but Hardison just wasn’t getting it. “I can’t keep you safe if you ain’t listenin’!”

“And I can’t do my job if you’re too paranoid to let me!” Hardison retorted.

Eliot seriously considered going back down to the bar at that, but walking out in the middle of a fight made him feel lousy, so he fought the instinct.

Hardison just had no idea how difficult those calls were, having to weigh up the risk to his partners against the opportunity of taking down their mark. Still, just because he wasn’t walking out didn’t mean he had to reply. So he didn’t; they both sat there in silence and tension simmered just beneath the surface.

After a few minutes Parker poked her head out of the bedroom and retreated just as quickly. It made sense, this wasn’t her fight and her wading in and picking a side wouldn’t help anything. 

Eliot couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty after that though. This was a job, after all. People were being hurt and they’d come over to help, and yet here he was too caught up in his own fucking relationship drama to even help Parker with the plan.

“Look,” he tried again, once he felt calm enough to speak. “I know you can look after yourself when you need to. But when you break into a warehouse patrolled by armed security on the payroll of the mob, it’s my job to keep you safe. And you can fight me and say I pulled you out too early, or you can trust that I know what I’m doin’, and that if I say ‘get out’, it’s because you’re about to get into a situation where I can’t predict the outcome.”

Hardison seemed to deflate a little at that. “I was this close man,” he said, holding his hand in front of Eliot’s face to show that his thumb and forefinger were a hairs width apart.

“I know. It ain’t about me trustin’ how fast you can do your-” he made a gesture to imitate hands on a keyboard, “-thing.”

“Yeah. Okay, okay.” Hardison leaned into the middle of the couch and Eliot met him halfway so their shoulders were resting on each other. “We cool?”

Eliot took a deep breath which might have been relief. “We’re cool.”

And suddenly Hardison was pulling him in and kissing him, sweet and soft quickly giving way to deep and heated. Hands buried themselves in his hair and Hardison swung a leg over, leaving him stradling Eliot’s lap.

His dick was just beginning to take interest when the door to the bedroom creaked open again.

“Does this mean you’ve made up?” asked Parker, a wicked grin alighting on her face.

Eliot’s eyes flickered to Hardison’s, taking in his heavy breathing and dazed expression. “Sure have,” he drawled. He patted the cushion Hardison had just vacated in invitation and Parker made a happy noise and joined them.

* * *

The next day started smoothly enough. Hardison had hacked the booking website for Dwór Słowika and sent emails to the two guests with bookings today, telling them that unfortunately it was being cancelled and they’d receive their refund within five to seven working days. Then he’d changed their details in the system to be for a single visitor who would present his proof of medical exam on arrival.

They found on street parking on the road adjacent to the manor, and Hardison got to work setting up his equipment in the back of their rental van while Parker and Eliot went over the plan.

“Try to act at least a bit scared,” Parker told him. “You need to run as much of the house as possible and they might get bored if you just stand there and look grumpy.”

Eliot opened his mouth to argue that, but actually Parker made a good point.

She continued, “The more we can see the more likely we’ll find out what’s going on in there.”

“Have you considered that it might actually _be_ scary?” Hardison called from the back.

Parker practically doubled over laughing at that, and when she looked up at Eliot her eyes were warm and full of trust.

“There ain’t nothing in there worse than the places I’ve already been,” he assured Hardison.

“If you say so,” Hardison teased.

“Okay, all set?” Parker asked with a heartily slap on the back which he assumed was for encouragement.

“Yeah.” Eliot fitted his earbud and climbed out of the van, winking at Parker just before he shut the door. 

That was when everything went to shit.

Across the road, walking straight towards the dark and imposing structure that called itself Dwór Słowika, was one of the gang members who Eliot had fought back in the warehouse when he was covering Hardison’s retreat a couple of days previous.

He swung the door open and dived back into the van, keeping his face low.

“That was quick,” quipped Parker.

“See that guy with the grey scarf? Limping?” said Eliot through gritted teeth. “Well me an’ him already got acquainted. Mob.”

Hardison appeared behind them, poking his face though the gap in the front seats to look through the windscreen at the guy Eliot was describing. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

“We know they’re connected,” Parker frowned, “but why? What’s in it for the mob? Nothing about this case makes sense.”

“He gonna recognise you?” asked Hardison.

Eliot nodded and indicated to the bandage around his left bicep which covered the deep gash he’d had to stitch up himself after the fight. “He was the one who did this. And I did worse to him.”

Parker groaned loudly as they all realised the same thing, if Eliot’s cover was burned then it was going to be near impossible to recon the Manor.

“What now then?” Eliot said, tracking the progress of grey-scarf-guy as he disappeared into a side entrance.

“I don’t… I need time to think about it.”

Hardison cleared his throat behind them. “I’ll go. Yeah, I’ll go instead of Eliot. They never saw my face.”

Eliot looked at him dubiously. This was a house that had scared and broken people so badly it literally killed them, no way was Hardison going in there. “Let’s just go back to the hotel and talk through our options.”

“Look, the booking’s all set up now. If no one shows they’ll get suspicious and who knows what they’ll do then. Could tighten security, increase background checks. We might not get this chance again. Come on, I can _do_ this.”

Parker pursed her lips, looking to Eliot. “He’s right that this might be our only shot to see the inside from a visitors perspective,” she said in a neutral tone.

“No, I don’t like it. We have no idea what’s in there.”

“ _You_ were going to go in,” Hardison reminded him, sounding resentful.

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose, taking slow breaths to avoid a snappy response that would inevitably piss Hardison off. “I thought we talked about this?”

“Yeah and we talked about you trusting me, man. I’ll have my comms on and a button cam, you can come punch your way in whenever you want to and I’ll leave with you. But I gotta _try_. You know it makes sense.”

He was right, it did make sense. And if Hardison was anyone other than himself or Parker, then Eliot would probably be suggesting the plan himself. Fucking relationships were making him soft.

“Fine,” he growled.

* * *

The first half hour went quickly. Eliot sat in the back of the van and listened through the comms as Hardison presented his medical forms and was talked through the various waivers he needed to sign. They asked him a few vague questions about things he was and wasn’t okay with them doing - mild electric shocks, strobe lighting and similarly annoying but ultimately harmless techniques they might employ during his run of the Manor.

By the time Hardison was finished with the briefing, Eliot was feeling much more comfortable with the idea of him being there. The security around the reception area looked practically non-existent and Parker had been out scouting and found three other unsecured points of entry on the ground level alone.

Eliot held his breath a little as Hardison stepped out of the reception area and into a long, empty corridor lined with red velvet wallpaper, and from the silence in Parker’s general direction he guessed she was doing the same. A door slammed and they both jolted a little; Eliot was glad Parker didn’t call that out on the comms.

After that the tension ebbed. Hardison passed the first couple of rooms with a few high pitched screams that Eliot would absolutely tease him about later, but there was nothing out of the ordinary for a so-called Haunted House.

“I know it was hard for you,” Parker said, suddenly. “Letting him go in your place.”

Eliot moved his hand so it was resting over hers. “Yeah.”

“You-” Parker was cut off by a wailing sound coming through the comms.

“Fuck.” Eliot pulled the earbud out and stared frantically at the monitors, trying to make sense of the view from the button cam. It was blurry but he could just about tell that the view was sideways.

“He’s lying down. Or fallen down.” Parker supplied.

Eliot was out of his seat and pulling open the back doors before his brain kicked back in. There were numerous reasons for Hardison to be lying down which didn’t involve anything untoward. Crawling through a confined space, tripped up, tased.

Drugged. Beaten. Dead.

“Eliot, stop! Look.” Parker was watching the screen intently as Eliot tried to force his body to calm down and follow her instructions.

On the screen the button cam was back upright. Eliot fumbled with the earbud as he slid it back in, noting that the wailing seemed to cut off abruptly.

“Huh. Weird noise for a Haunted House.” he said, feeling stupid for overreacting but acknowledging that he still didn’t like it - any of it. The adrenaline surge still coursing through him was shouting desperately that he should just to go in and grab Hardison, damn the job.

Parker kept her eyes on the screen and made quiet noise of agreement. “Yeah, weird. Wei-r-d.”

“You okay to watch for a minute. I need some air.” He watched as Parker looked up and shot him a smile that looked almost sympathetic, and he felt like an idiot for not releasing earlier that she was probably just as on edge as he was. “Sorry,” he added, as if that made up for him being an ignorant jerk.

A few minutes spent pacing around the van helped to clear his head and centre himself. He wasn’t usually so jumpy, but Hardison’s seeming nonchalance towards danger the other day was still echoing around in his mind.

When he got back in the van things felt better. The strange wailing sound had done a number on the comms so they couldn’t hear much, but they could still track Hardison’s progress via the button cam. He and Parker sat in companionable silence, occasionally sharing a glance or a smile, but mostly just comforted by the presence of each other.

After another half hour of nothing even remotely scary happening, Eliot started to get suspicious. Luring someone into a false sense of security was a decent tactic to set up a scare, but taking thirty minutes was pushing it.

Evidently he wasn’t alone in that thinking, because Parker shifted restlessly besides him and then said, “something’s wrong.”

“Agreed.”

“I don’t think the cam’s on Hardison anymore.”

Eliot sucked in a breath. “What?”

“The pace is wrong, look,” she paused to let Eliot examine the screen and the slight rise and fall of the camera in line with the wearers steps. She was right, the distance between rises was too short; the wearer was someone whose legs were a good few inches shorter than Hardison’s. “I think someone took his jacket when he was on the floor,” she whispered.

“I’m going in.” It wasn’t a question. Eliot was already pulling back his hair in a tie from around his wrist.

Parker nodded. “Get him back safe Eliot.” She sounded scared.

* * *

Eliot hurtled towards Dwór Słowika with single minded purpose. Parker was talking to him through the comms, listing facts about the building and anything that might help him to navigate better once inside, but he could barely hear her over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

He skidded into the main reception and took out the man sitting behind the desk with one well aimed strike to the solar plexus. He didn’t look like much of a threat, but Eliot wasn’t taking any more chances today.

His attention was caught by a movement from the other side of the room.

“Hey, that wasn’t very nice,” came a heavily accented voice.

Eliot spun on the spot, dropping to a crouch as the grey-scarfed Pole reached behind and pulled out a switchblade from his back pocket.

“It’s you,” he commented redundantly as he flicked open the blade to reveal a wicked looking knife.

“Yeah,” Eliot replied, equally redundantly, keeping low and poised to retaliate against the inevitable attack.

Prepared though he was, the Pole rushing at him was still enough to knock Eliot off balance, sending him careering off to avoid the knife and crashing into a wall of filing cabinets. He turned quickly, raising an arm to block the next attack and grabbing the guy’s elbow with his free hand. He twisted it sharply, effectively locking the man’s knife arm, and kicked his legs out from under him.

Now on the floor, the Pole reached for the knife which lay a few inches from his outstretched fingers. Eliot bore down on him, letting his rage and fear finally erupt as a flurry of brutal jabs. He felt the tip of the knife sink into his thigh and channeled the pain into harder strikes.

“Eliot!” Parker’s voice sounded in his ear, high and pained.

Eliot blinked and pulled himself back, seeing the man’s broken nose and bloodied face for the first time. He pushed himself up, smearing the blood on his hands across his jeans and taking stock of the situation.

The Pole was unconscious on the floor. Eliot was unharmed aside from his split knuckles and the small gash on his thigh.

“I’m good Parker,” he reassured her, remembering that his fights always sounded worse over the comms.

She exhaled loudly. “Any sign of Hardison?”

“Not yet, I’m-”

The sound of approaching footsteps cut Eliot off suddenly. They were coming up from the corridor that Hardison had walked down less than an hour before, and were accompanied by low voices. Eliot paused and tucked himself out of sight of their approach, his body coiled to spring.

“It’s over now,” he heard one of the approaching voices say. “You did really well.”

He strained to hear the other side of the conversation, aiming to time his attack as they entered the reception.

“Y-yeah,” came the shaky reply, and Eliot could have kissed someone, because that was Hardison’s voice.

Eliot pushed himself up from his crouch and practically flew across the space to the doorway, but whatever fleeting feeling of relief he had drained out of him all at once as he caught sight of Hardison, who was trembling violently.

“What happened? Are-” Eliot shoved an elbow into the face of the guy escorting Hardison and he crumpled down in a heap, “-you hurt?”

He reached out and cupped Hardison’s elbows, helping to steady him. His pupils were dilated and darting wildly. Drugged, then. Eliot cast his eyes over the rest of Hardison’s body, he didn’t look like he’d physically harmed.

“Eliot. Eliot, they- they- they...” Hardison spoke in a frantic voice but trailed off quickly.

Eliot didn’t know what Hardison was trying to tell him, but here wasn’t the place for discussing it further. “Come on man. Back to the van.” He eyed Hardison’s unsteady legs. “Think you can make it?”

Hardison gave a jerky nod and leaned heavily on Eliot. Eliot wrapped an arm around his waist for support, and together they half-ran back through the reception area and out into the street. Progress to the van was slightly slower but eventually they made it; Parker threw open the back doors to greet them and helped Eliot half pull Hardison into the relative safely.

“What happened?” Parker asked, her tone all business because she couldn’t afford to get emotional right now.

Eliot clenched his fists tightly. “I- I don’t know.” He looked to Hardison who was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Hardison?” said Parker, gently. “You need to tell us what they did.”

Hardison gave them a wild look and drew in a shaky breath. “They’re torturing people in there. They- they- I’m sorry. I can’t.” He broke off and Eliot felt his blood run cold as he saw tears gather at the corners of Hardison’s eyes.

“Torturing. Okay.” Parker didn’t look at Hardison as she spoke, focussing instead on an unremarkable patch of ceiling. Eliot understood; she was trusting him to take care of Hardison so she could close the case as quickly as possibly. “Why?”

“For the mob,” whispered Hardison. “Testing techniques. Gave me something and said I wouldn’t remember. But I do.” His voice cracked. “They took my jacket.”

“That’s fucked up,” growled Eliot. “Parker..?”

Parker reached out and clasped Hardison’s hang tightly, but still didn’t look at him. Eliot took his other hand and Parker’s, closing the circle.

It made sense in a sick kind of way. All the mob activity gave them access to a steady supply of drugs - mostly ketamine in these parts, which could be used to alter short-term memories. It explained why none of the customers who survived ever made any complaints. To them it would be just a hazy memory of fear by the time they got home; they’d probably think they had a great time.

Eventually Parker turned to face him with a nod. “Get rid of it Eliot. Burn it down. I have a plan for the mob and it doesn’t involve this place.”

He didn’t need telling twice. What kind of sick people tortured innocent customers for research? He knew from first hand experience how many horrific torture techniques already existed - hell, he’d probably been on the receiving end of most of them, and he wasn’t proud about how he knew the rest. The world certainly didn’t need any more.

* * *

Eliot grabbed the kit he needed and headed back over. A few minutes of set up was all it took to plant a few small devices in the rooms leading off the side entrances, and then flood them with gas from the pipes which fed into the building. He avoided the reception area; as much as he thought they deserved it, no one was going to die today at his hands. Unfortunately the contained explosions of the side rooms weren't going to bring down the whole building, but hopefully the resulting fire should cause enough structural damage that it would end up being demolished anyway.

The crash of the explosion reached him as he was jogging back to the van. It set his ears ringing as it knocked him forward, and sent a satisfying amount of debris and ash falling down around him.

Parker was in the front seat of the van as Eliot climbed back in. “It’s done?”

“Yes. Let’s go home.”

* * *

It was fifteen hours since checking out of the hotel in Warsaw before they were standing back outside the Brewpub in Portland with the heavy darkness of 6am surrounding them.

They’d cleared out of the suite in record time. Parker and Hardison had crowded over the computers they had set up and spoke in hushed voices as Eliot showered off the smell of explosives and patched up the gash on his leg as best he could. By the time he was out, they’d sorted it. Dwór Słowika was destroyed and despite the fact that his fingers trembled as he typed, Hardison had managed to hack the insurance company to make sure there were enough discrepancies in the paperwork to invalidate any claim they might try to make on their policy. Parker called in a favour with a local fence to ensure that the mob would be pulled into an open art theft investigation; it wouldn’t stick, but it would stall them until she had the resources to finish them more permanently. It was messy, not their usual style, but the most immediate threat was dealt with and Hardison needed them more right now.

The flight back to Portland seemed to drag endlessly. Hardison was pale and subdued, the drugs were long out of his system but he was still shaky and he wouldn’t talk about what had been done to him. Eliot could barely look at him without feeling the cold clutches of guilt wrap themselves around him. Parker held his hand whenever he felt like he was going to punch someone - the ignorant guy who banged him with a suitcase, the incompetent woman at the check-in gate and the security guy who patted him down and jolted his stitches, to name a few. She always distanced herself after though, being alone was a defense mechanism for her just as much as Eliot’s violence was for him.

When they landed back on American soil, things started to feel a bit more normal. Hardison even cracked a few weak jokes as they passed through security (‘good job we used all our bombs before we flew home, huh?’) and earned himself a ‘dammit Hardison’ from both his partners simultaneously.

It might take a bit of time, but he’d get over whatever had happened to him in that house. He’d be okay. 

Parker and Hardison were still asleep when Eliot slipped out of bed around midday. They might have dozed on the flight, Eliot wasn’t sure; but they both crashed out within ten minutes of opening the front door to their apartment. He’d taken a little longer to feel calm enough to sleep, even after the twelve hour flight and the travel from the airport. But eventually he was lulled by the comforting sounds of slow regular breathing coming from both Parker and Hardison, proving that they were both here, both safe.

He spent the early part of the afternoon down in the Brewpub, surrounding himself with the normality of the place. Nothing bad seemed to have happened there in his absence, which he attributed to the quality of his staff and the amount of work they’d all put into making sure the place ran like a well oiled machine.

The sauce he was watching was just beginning to bubble when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

 _‘We’re up. Can you bring snacks? P,’_ he read.

“Hey,” he called over to the chef who was running the dinner prep, “mind if I disappear?”

The chef laughed, they purposefully never scheduled Eliot into their rotas because he had a tendency to dip in and out as it suited. If he was there, great, they had an extra pair of hands, and if not, they were still running a full kitchen, so no one minded. Also he was dating their boss. “Yeah, we’re good here.”

Eliot smiled his thanks and hunted around for some Parker-and-Hardison-appropriate snacks. There was a pile of assorted pastries left over from the bakery delivery that morning which seemed to fit the bill, so he took the cardboard box they’d come packaged in and headed back up.

The two of them were lounging together on the couch when he entered. They both looked exhausted still, but they were dressed and Parker’s hair was wet from the shower, so Eliot judged they must have been feeling a little better.

“Ooh. Croissants,” Parker chirped happily, reaching up as Eliot walked by to snag a pain au chocolat out of the box.

Eliot paused, offering the box to Hardison and watching him carefully as he took an apricot danish. “How you feelin’ today?” he asked, hating how timid his voice sounded, as though he was scared that Hardison was going to break right here in front of him. Hardison was stronger than that, he’d bounced back from worse. Probably. And therein lay the problem; until Eliot knew exactly what had happened, he had no idea how to help.

“Yeah man. Better. Thanks.”

“Do you wanna…?” Eliot didn’t say ‘talk about it’, but he hoped the way he was gazing at Hardison heavily implied it

“Nah, not really,” replied Hardison, just a little too fast.

Parker snuggled against his shoulder as she nibbled at her pain au chocolat. “That’s okay. We’re here if you ever want to. But it’s okay to not want to.”

“Thanks mama.”

Eliot strode back to the kitchen and deposited the pastries there for later snacking. “What do you wanna do today then?” he called, reappearing in the doorway and pretending to check the watch he didn’t own, before adding, “Or what’s left of it.”

He caught the way Parker and Hardison exchanged a look before they both turned to him. Damn sneaky partners he had.

“Oh my new locks arrived while we were away,” Parker said, finishing her pastry. “They’re brand new, just gone on the market. I need to figure them out and start getting my times down.” She wiggled her fingers out in front of her. “These fingers can open _any_ lock in less than ten seconds, that takes practice.” She stood up, eyes gleaming with excitement that made Eliot want to pick her up and spin her around just to keep her looking that way.

Instead he settled for a kiss as she passed by him on her way to her self-named thief den - otherwise known as the room Parker stored all her equipment.

“Have fun,” she called, turning back to look at Eliot from the doorway of her room and giving him a wink before disappearing inside.

Eliot looked back at Hardison, his mind already half drawing conclusions based on Parker’s parting words. “What about you, man?”

Hardison grinned and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Bedroom?”

“Smartest guy I know,” Eliot agreed. Because he hadn’t realised how much he needed it until just now. Needed to feel Hardison’s skin on his own, warm and soft and unharmed. Safe.

He walked into their room, not looking back because he could hear Hardison moving behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Hardison joined him a second later, pulling him over so they were both half laying down. Eliot took a second to appreciate just how fucking lucky he was to have a guy like Hardison - thoughtful, affectionate, dorky in the best sense of the word, irritating as all hell but so damn intelligent. He could go on, and maybe would have, but Hardison’s lips closed over his and the thought died near instantly.

The kiss was gentle and slow on Hardison’s part, but Eliot couldn’t help but turn it into something more urgent, as if he had to feel as much of Hardison as he could to prove to himself that he was okay. They continued like that for a minute or so before Hardison started to grind his hips unconsciously and Eliot placed a hand on his shoulder to roll them over.

That was when Hardison pulled back, breathing hard. “Can we… Can _I_ do.. the thing?”

Eliot understood the poorly explained question and nodded, but Hardison wasn’t done talking.

“It’s just. I-I need to be in control. Does that make sense?”

He didn’t tell him that Hardison was always in control; didn’t say that he only usually topped because he could give pleasure but he wasn’t always great at receiving it, and not out of some form of dominance. He didn’t point out that whatever Hardison told him to do, he always did it, and nothing more. Because those were his hang ups and nothing to do with Hardison, and if Hardison needed to feel in control, and this helped Hardison feel in control, then he’d do it gladly.

“Sure,” he agreed, mouth dry. He leaned forward very slightly before catching himself. Hardison needed to initiate this.

Instead he let his eyes close, concentrating on the feel of Hardison’s breath ghosting his face. When the kiss came it was different than before. It was forceful and possessive; it was Hardison claiming him. He could feel his erection growing and heat pooling in between his legs with each slip of Hardison’s tongue into his mouth. A hand on his shoulder pushed him onto his back, breaking their kiss as Hardison climbed on top of him.

Effectively pinned, Eliot could only lie there as Hardison resumed kissing him, starting at his jaw and working his way slowly down his neck. His hips twitched a little at that, seeking friction although non was forthcoming.

Hardison paused as his kisses trailed down to Eliot’s shirt. “That needs to come off,” he muttered.

Eliot dealt with the buttons while Hardison pulled his t-shirt over his head and let it land on the floor. He dragged his eyes up Hardison’s chest appreciatively, and shuddered involuntarily at the hunger in his eyes. Then Hardison leaned in to kiss him again, starting back at his jaw. This time lingering for longer on his neck, licking and biting and sucking in a way caused Eliot to make little breathy noises of pleasure which he would have been embarrassed by if there had been room in his head to care. He continued slowly down Eliot’s chest and Eliot could feel his breathing get heavier the closer Hardison got to his waistband. He was so hard now that his jeans were getting uncomfortable and he really, really hoped Hardison planned to do something with them soon. He tensed as he felt Hardison lick a strip across his abdomen, the warmth of his mouth giving way quickly to the cool air in the room. 

“Dammit Hardison,” he groaned, as Hardison moved lower, nuzzling his cock through the fabric of his jeans.

Hardison took pity on him, undoing the buttons of his pants with long dexterous fingers that had Eliot wondering about how they might feel… inside him. It had been a while, but the feeling of getting fucked wasn’t something that Eliot thought he’d ever be able to forget. And the thought of it being Hardison sent shivers of want through him, building in his cock, making him twitch with the need to touch and be touched.

He looked up at Hardison who had paused midway through shimmying down his own pants to watch. A small part of Eliot’s brain told him that he was normally more put together than this, him topping Hardison was like a well practiced dance for them at this point, where each of them knew what to do and when; but just because he liked to do as he was told didn’t mean that Hardison was usually quite so forceful about it. And fuck, Eliot _really_ liked forceful.

It seemed that Hardison had come to the same realisation, because he wet his lips slightly and said, “touch yourself.”

Eliot made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan as he slipped his hand into his boxers obediently and wrapped it tightly around his cock, looking to Hardison for further instruction and willing his hips not to jerk into his fist until he was allowed.

“Okay,” Hardison nodded his approval, “but slowly.”

And oh wasn’t that the sweetest kind of torture, watching Hardison continue stripping as he stroked himself gently but deliberately. His eyes closed without any conscious thought, and that was when he felt Hardison’s hand over his, guiding him and slowing his pace even further until eventually his hand fell still against the occasional involuntary roll of his hips.

“Open your eyes Eliot,” came Hardison’s voice, soft and low and coloured with his own arousal.

Eliot’s brain nearly short circuited as he took in the sight of Hardison naked, his cock hard and wet with precome. Somewhere between the stripping and the stroking, Hardison had managed to finish removing the last of Eliot’s clothes too, which he knew should be disconcerting but really just turned him on even more.

He felt Hardison’s hand trail up his inner thigh and come to rest on his ass, followed seconds later by a well lubed finger, circling, slow and careful; and he’d not even managed to form the question of _when had he had chance to do that_ when Hardison said, “breath,” and slowly pushed it into him.

Eliot’s hands scrambled on the bed sheets as he fought the urge to tense up, instead doing as Hardison had instructed and breathing in deeply, willing himself to relax into the sensation.

Then Hardison leaned over from where he was perched on the foot of the bed, capturing Eliot’s mouth with his own at the same time as he started moving his finger. Eliot moaned softly into his mouth, moving his hands up to run down Hardison’s arms, tracing the contours of his muscles as he felt himself sink deeper into Hardison’s touch.

A second finger was added as Hardison started back on his neck again, sucking at the same spots as earlier but harder this time. The way he moved his fingers was less careful too, as though he was reading the signs from Eliot’s body that he could go rougher with him. A few times he brushed agonizingly close to Eliot’s prostate and it was all Eliot could do to keep from grinding down, desperate to chase that feeling further.

Eventually he pulled out, drawing an obscene sound from Eliot’s throat that he absolutely planned to deny later.

Eliot moved his arms to support his head as he watched Hardison grab a condom out of their nightstand and roll it on. His mouth was dry and he felt like he’d just run a mile at a sprint, but he was ready for this. Achingly, unbearably ready.

“You good to go?” asked Hardison, his dark eyes flashing as he stared down at Eliot lying beneath him, quiet and submissive in a way that he never was, except for with Hardison and Parker.

He nodded, trying to keep the motion from seeming frantic. Hardison positioned himself at the foot of the bed, carefully hooking one of Eliot’s legs over his shoulder. For someone who’d never done this before Eliot couldn’t help but think Hardison looked like a pro. But then again, he was a fast learner and Eliot was a good teacher.

In slow inches, Hardison pushed inside gently. Eliot watched his face, enjoying the expression of concentration as he fought the urge to thrust in all at once. It was a feeling Eliot could relate to, having been in Hardison’s position much more than he was used to since they’d got together.

Hardison’s mouth made a small ‘o’ of surprise as he realised he’d bottomed out. Eliot gave him his dirtiest wink at that. It might have taken Hardison a good many times to learn how to take Eliot fully, but Eliot wasn’t exactly new to this.

Then they were moving. Hardison leading and Eliot just trying his damn hardest not to lose his mind as Hardison moved against him. Hands stroked their way over his stomach, mapping out the muscles which were tensed just beneath the surface.

“You like me on top,” Hardison stated at one point, in between heavy breaths.

To Eliot it was like the words bypassed his brain and went straight to his cock, and he was vaguely aware that someone was saying yes over-and-over again, and that it was probably him.

He could feel his orgasm building rapidly as each thrust of Haridson against his prostate sent spots across his vision. He tried to pull himself back, tense against it, anything to buy time; because Hardison always came first, it was just how Eliot was, he wanted to make sure his partner was fully satisfied before he could chase his own end. But this was different, he realised, in the very small part of his brain still capable of coherent thought. Hardison was in control, and Eliot had to submit to that, even if it meant coming first.

“F-fuck. Hardison,” he gasped in a ragged voice. “I’m- I gotta- hhhhn. Do y- fuck. Fuck.” He didn’t know what he was trying to say, not really. Maybe checking with Hardison that it was okay? Maybe just babbling.

But whatever the question, Hardison answered in the best possible way, by wrapping a firm hand around Eliot’s cock and whispering, “yes.”

Eliot let himself fall back into the sensation as it rose up to meet him. He felt himself clench tightly as waves of pleasure crashed down around him against the twin feelings of Hardison inside him and those fucking clever fingers of his around Eliot’s cock, which moved in a way that said ‘I know exactly how you like it, Eliot Spencer, so just let me do this for you’.

He returned to himself at about the same time as Hardison’s hips stuttered as he reached his own climax. Eliot tried to make a noise of encouragement but his throat was raw and what actually came out was more of a growl than anything else. It seemed to do the job though, because Hardison keened loudly, before slowing his pace and eventually slumping down on top of Eliot.

They lay there in silence for a few beats, before Hardison broke it.

“You’re wet,” he said, speaking against Eliot’s cheek.

“What kind of sex talk is that?” complained Eliot drowsily.

Hardison rolled off and propped himself up on an elbow. “I’m just saying. You’re messy when I top.” He eyed the come splattered across Eliot's stomach and chest.

“Fuck off Hardison. I’m not havin’ this conversation.” 

He felt a hand come down to stroke his hair and he leaned into it despite himself.

“Eliot,” started Hardison again, “I’m sorry. For… for…”

Eliot burrowed closer into Hardison’s chest, surrounded by the warmth and solidity of him. He didn’t really want to talk about this now, not here when they were together, and Parker and Hardison were safe. And besides, how did he respond to that in a way that wouldn’t make Hardison lose confidence in himself?

What was he even sorry for? - For getting tortured by the Polish mob? For taking an unnecessary risk that put himself in danger? It would hardly be the first time.

But then, they weren’t the same people as they'd been back when they first met. Risks Eliot might have been okay with them taking back then were often ones he would definitely _not_ be okay with now. And maybe that meant they needed to change the way they operated, just a little; to prioritise their own safety a little more.

Eliot had made a promise to Sophie, after all.

He opened his mouth to reply, still considering potential responses, when he heard Hardison start to snore softly. He might be the smartest guy he knew, but he was still an idiot. _Their_ idiot.

Quietly, Eliot extracted himself from under Hardison’s tangle of limbs and went to go clean himself up. As he went he wondered absently whether Parker had dealt with the Polish mob yet. Hardison was going to be just fine, he was sure of that now, but the guys that did this to him, well they had a whole lot of pain headed their way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you feel able to drop me a comment to tell me what you thought then I will be eternally grateful to you. You can also find me on Tumblr under the same name.


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